


Crazy Elephant Bones

by Claire



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-05-06
Updated: 2009-05-06
Packaged: 2017-11-02 03:57:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/364717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Claire/pseuds/Claire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Hey Bobby. Cas got whammied, mind if we hide him in the panic room for a while?</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crazy Elephant Bones

Bobby Singer lay in bed and glared at the ceiling. He should have known this would happen after Dean and Sam turned up at his door all apologies (Sam), sheepish grin (also Sam), puppy dog eyes (still Sam) and a half-insensate angel being dragged behind them (Dean).

_Hey Bobby. Cas got whammied, mind if we hide him in the panic room for a while?_

Of course, Dean's explanation really wasn't one, so after the required round of holy water (half of Castiel's ending up down his shirt and dripping onto Bobby's floor, since the angel had still been too out of it to swallow properly), Bobby had told Dean to stick Castiel in the panic room while Sam explained.

There'd been a seal, Sam had said. And more demons than they'd been expecting.

They'd barely gotten out of there, Sam had said. Cas had been hit from behind with a bright light as he'd stopped a demon from getting to Dean.

Ugly-ass guy, Sam had said. Looked kinda like George Clooney, Dean had added, freshly returned from settling Castiel in and on his way to steal beer from Bobby's fridge.

All they'd known was that it was some sort of spell and that Cas couldn't access his powers, so they'd dragged him back to the Impala and bailed, heading straight for Bobby's

It's temporary, Dean had assured him. They just needed somewhere to lay low while Cas recharged.

That had been a nearly week ago.

The first couple of days were fine, Bobby thought. Sam read a lot, Dean worked on the junkers in the yard a lot and Castiel slept through it all.

On the third day, Castiel was awake but still unable to access his powers.

Apologies, Robert, he'd said, but it would seem I must appeal to your hospitality a little longer.

Bobby'd just shrugged and started adding extra layers onto the wards around the house, so at least the angel wouldn't be stuck in the panic room all the time.

The fourth day Dean had started to get-- antsy. He'd never been one for doing nothing, always needing to be busy. Took after his old man in that regard, John had hated inactivity as well.

He'd started off needling Sam, until Sam had finally snapped and threatened to gag him and tie him to the bed in the spare room. Dean had just grinned and commented that he'd never realised his brother was that kinky.

And when bothering Sam had grown old, Dean had turned his attention to Castiel.

Since Cas was now essentially human, Dean had declared, it made perfect sense that he experienced all the things humans did.

The first thing Dean had done was make Castiel work his way through the three basic food groups - grease, sugar and pie.

Castiel had eyed the burger Dean had handed him like it was something from the Pit, not known what exactly to do with the strawberry twizzler, and he'd decreed the pie _satisfactory_ , which had made Dean twitch in a way Bobby had only ever seen once. (Dean had been twenty and someone had said that the Impala was an okay car, but nowhere near as good as a TransAm. Bobby had thought there was going to be bloodshed.)

After the food, Dean had moved onto beer, pressing a cold bottle from the fridge into Castiel's hand and cutting off Sam's concerns about giving an angel alcohol.

_Hey, Jesus did the wine thing, right? This is completely allowed--_

Bobby never wanted to see another drunk angel as long as he lived. Although, he had to admit that seeing Dean rendered speechless as a less-than-sober Castiel attempted to feel him up had kinda been worth it.

The problem was, Castiel fondling Dean had given Dean an idea. They'd done food and they'd done alcohol which meant, in Dean's opinion, there'd been only one more human experience worth trying. Sex.

Of course, if he looked at it, he really had no one to blame but himself. But when Dean had grinned at Bobby over his beer and asked _that_ question--

_Hey, Bobby, d'ya think it's a sin to show an angel how to jerk off?_

Bobby hadn't thought he'd meant actually showing the angel _that damn night_.

The combination of slightly squeaky bedsprings and an apparently very enthusiastic angel (Bobby would give everything he owned never to hear Dean shout out, _Oh fuck, Cas, **harder**_ , ever again) meant that Bobby now knew that a) the movies lied and a pillow over the head _didn't_ block out sex noises and b) his bedroom ceiling needed re-painting.

He'd been one more _Jesus, fuck, **yes**_ from grabbing the keys to his truck and going to hide out in the new all-night coffee shop in town (there were half-price vouchers for cupcakes, the vanilla mochachino was free and the manager still smiled every time she saw him. If anyone asked, however, Bobby still took it black with sugar) when two almighty shouts rent the air and then there was silence. For about five seconds.

Although, Bobby wasn't complaining about Sam's yell of _Thank god, now shut up, some of us are trying to sleep_. Not when he agreed.

Dean's retort of _You're only jealous, Sammy_ was met with _Bite me_ , and Bobby prepared himself for knowing exactly what his niece was going through with her four-year old twins. But whatever Dean had been about to reply (because even if Bobby couldn't see him, he _knew_ Dean had been about to yell something because he was physically incapable of letting anyone who wasn't John Winchester having the last word) was lost in soft words that Bobby could hear but not make out, and then nothing.

Bobby sort of thought that the ability to shut up Dean rated far higher on the scale of angelic abilities than smiting demons ever could. After all, he'd met _people_ who could exorcise demons, but getting Dean to shut his trap? Now _that_ was a miracle.

The next morning came far too quickly and on too little sleep, and Bobby reached for a second mug when he heard Dean stumbling into the kitchen behind him. (Dean was one of the best Hunters he knew, but in the morning and with no coffee, the boy was louder than Bigfoot on crack.)

The mug of coffee was met with a grunt of thanks as Dean slumped into a chair and practically inhaled the hot liquid. Bobby was tempted to make a comment about how good a time Dean had the night before, about how everyone _heard_ how good a time Dean had the night before, but Castiel came in so he refrained. (Bobby wasn't entirely sure whether he was headed upstairs or down when his time came, but just in case the decision hadn't been made yet, he figured _not_ making an angel of the Lord blush crimson would go in his favour.)

Dean looked up from his coffee and the _Hey, Cas_ was softer than Bobby had ever heard Dean be with anyone else he'd hooked up with. (A summer spent at Bobby's when Dean was nineteen meant that Bobby had more experience of meeting Dean's one-night stands in his kitchen than he'd ever wanted to. Every type of person had been through Bobby's that summer, and all of them had gone away with a smile on their face and the knowledge that it was nothing serious. Bobby had never seen the same person twice, had barely spoken to any of them. Although he still got a Christmas card from Karl, one of the college students Dean had brought back. His car has refused to start the next day and they'd got to talking while Bobby had fixed it for him. Nice boy. Eventually settled down with a lawyer called David.)

But out of all of those people who had seen his kitchen, not one of them had rated a careful smile and Dean's hand resting over theirs as they sat at the table. Because if Dean Winchester had to go and fall in love, then he couldn't do it like everyone else, could he. No, he had to go and do it in the way that had the most likelihood of ending in heartbreak, possible death and God being pissed at him for defiling one of his kids. Lord knows Bobby loved that boy like he was his own son, but sometimes he felt like taking Dean over his lap and beating the stupid out of him. Because there are angry fathers and then there are angry fathers with the ability to throw you (literally) into Hell (again).

Dean ran his fingers across the back of Castiel's neck as he stood up, commenting about _havin' a shower_ and _using all the hot water before Sammy gets there_. Which left Bobby alone in his kitchen with an angel. An angel who was looking at him, head tilted slightly and small smile on his lips.

"My Father wouldn't castigate anyone for love, Robert. He certainly wouldn't send anyone to Hell for it."

How-- oh, right, _angel_. Angel who apparently just read his mind.

"I give you my word no harm will befall him so long as it's in my power. He's-- _precious_ to me."

Which was the kind of promise Bobby just didn't know how to answer. _Good_ didn't seem to cover it and _See that you don't_ seemed a bit presumptuous to say to an angel.

"Dean thinks of you as a father, Robert. I think that entitles you to be presumptuous."

Bobby reckoned it did, he just hadn't been sure if Castiel would agree. But anything Castiel was about to say in reply to Bobby's nod was lost to Dean's holler of _Shower's big enough for two, Cas. Get your ass up here--_

Castiel stood, and then hesitated, glancing back at Bobby.

"Best go, son; if you don't, he'll yell the place down."

Castiel smiled, and vanished, and Bobby thought that if he wasn't back up to full angel power, then he couldn't be far off it.

Of course, that also meant that he'd just given one of the most powerful beings in creation permission to mess around with Dean in his shower. And if the noises coming from Bobby's bathroom were any indication, the two of them were planning on being in there for quite some time.

Picking up his keys, Bobby walked over to the sofa, stepping over the legs that were dangling off the end and pulling the pillow off Sam's face.

Sam peered at him blearily, face falling when he heard the noises drifting down the stairs and muttering under his breath about _horny brothers_ and _the goddamn stamina of goddamn angels_.

Bobby just patted him on the shoulder, told him to get up and promised to introduce him to the wonders of a vanilla mochachino.

After all, he figured they both deserved it.


End file.
